


Attachment Issues

by Elenothar



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Fluff warning, Graves is the new designated beast babysitter, M/M, Mutual Protectiveness, Newt is delighted, and so is the whole department
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-09-14 12:20:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9181330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elenothar/pseuds/Elenothar
Summary: Five times one of Newt’s creatures hitched a ride to work with Graves, and one time he took them along on purpose.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a [kinkmeme prompt](http://fantasticbeasts-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/459.html?thread=189899#cmt189899) that asked for Newt's creatures sneakily going to work with Graves. 
> 
> ... I have such a soft spot for Graves interacting with Newt's menagerie.

**1\. The Bowtruckle**

 

The first time Percival Graves entered Newt Scamander’s suitcase of wonders, he was torn between a sense of awe he’d long thought lost and wincing at the sheer _illegality_ of it. There wasn’t a permit in existence that could cover a goddamn Nundu. Then Graves looked at the brightness that suffused Newt’s face as he strode into the habitats with a self-assuredness that he usually kept hidden outside of his sanctuary, and found all words drying up in his throat. The law was the law, but perhaps Graves could bend his own rigidity to allow Newt to function as the law unto himself that he was. And he _did_ have permits for most of his creatures.

“Coming?” Newt called from the edge of the Erumpent enclosure, voice now tinged with a hint of anxiety.

Graves smiled at him and extended his hand, letting Newt lead him through his world.

It had taken weeks to get to this point. Weeks of Graves trying to build up a trust he hadn’t been certain he deserved, given Newt’s first experiences with the face that Grindelwald had stolen. Weeks of both Goldstein sisters smirking rather unsubtly whenever he got lost in Newt’s smile, the way his cheeks dimpled, and _Mercy Lewis those freckles_. Graves probably hadn’t scolded them for it as much as he should have – his reputation as a stern boss who took no lip was quickly going down the drain. Not that most of his smarter employees hadn’t realised long ago that most of that was a front, but still, appearances had to be maintained. Never mind that his office was now stocked with several kinds of tea and a variety of what Newt called ‘biscuits’ but were very clearly sweet (at which point Graves had given up on trying to understand British people and their strange ideas about the English language).

It was probably quite telling that Newt had even gotten around to kissing him before letting him see inside the suitcase. Graves didn’t mind – after what happened with Grindelwald Newt was probably due some justified paranoia. Besides he got to see it all now: the way magical light played over Newt’s features as he looked into the charmed sky, wind playing through his messy curls, and how all these fantastical creatures flocked to him, clearly full of trust and adoration for the man who had rescued them. It only took Graves five minutes inside the suitcase to realise that it would take a harder man than him to try and take any of this away from Newt.

Some of what he was thinking must’ve shown on his face, for Newt trotted back over to him with a blinding smile.

“Come. I’ll introduce you to some of the less nervous ones.”

Which is how Graves found himself holding an occami, petting mooncalves, admiring the preening niffler’s hoard, and holding a demiguise’s intelligent gaze until Dougal looked away with a satisfied noise. Pickett, the only one who Graves had been introduced to before and had watched all of this from his perch on Newt’s shoulder, now made a rude noise and clambered down Newt’s arm to jump over to Graves’ sleeve.

He froze. Pickett, undeterred, clambered upwards and settled on Graves’ shoulder, spindly arms crossed over his midsection.

Newt smiled, a soft, pleased thing. “I think he’s getting territorial. He already told all the other bowtruckles that he knew you first.”

“Anything I should… do?” Graves asked, watching Pickett’s head leaves swaying out of the corner of his eye.

“Relax.” Newt sounded _amused_ , the cheeky bastard. “You’re not going to harm him.”

Graves wasn’t so sure of that. Bowtruckles looked like a sharp gust of wind could break them in two, and graves was hardly as harmless as a gust of wind.

Newt just shook his head at him, a smile still playing around his lips. “Just let him be. Believe me, Pickett will let you know if he’s displeased.”

Pickett stayed on Graves’ shoulder for the rest of his visit, occasionally chittering and at one point Graves thought he felt curious fingers in his hair, but otherwise the bowtruckle was well-behaved. His shoulder almost felt empty when he finally took his leave and Pickett returned to his customary perch on Newt.

The next few times Graves visited the case, Pickett invariably ended up on his shoulder at some point, much to Newt’s open delight. As Graves became more familiar with his creatures and comfortable in the case, so did Newt relax more and more around him, until Graves was always able to coax a smile out of him.

He hadn’t yet outright told Newt that the suitcase had become something of a safe place for him – free from associations of Grindelwald and the pitying or guilty glances he still occasionally received at work. Nothing down here had ever triggered a flashback, either – an unlooked for blessing, but one he was grateful for nonetheless. Somehow various pains that went bone-deep settled when surrounded by the peaceful surroundings Newt had created. Or perhaps it was simply that Newt himself had a restorative effect on Graves. No, he hadn’t told Newt yet, but he was pretty certain that Newt already knew anyway. For all his shyness and propensity for getting flustered at the drop of a hat, Newt was the most perceptive man Graves had ever encountered.

Given all this – and Pickett’s clear curiosity about everything human – he maybe should’ve expected what happened next.

 

The day started bittersweet, with Graves waking up on the bed in the corner of Newt’s workshop, curled around the other man’s slighter frame. Newt always slept in a ball of tightly contained limbs, a habit Graves was equally worried about and guiltily appreciative of. Unfortunately he had to be at work in half an hour, which meant disentangling himself from Newt’s warmth and comfort. At his movement, sleepy sounds of protest came from Newt, and Graves was forced to spend another few minutes kissing them away.

In actual danger of being late at this point, he perhaps wasn’t quite as observant when putting on his clothes as he usually would’ve been, but really, who could blame him with the way Newt was watching him from the bed, all open and sleep-mussed. Despite certain rumours to the contrary, Graves _was_ only human.

All in all, in Graves’ opinion, this chain of events was a perfect excuse for how he almost found himself hexing Newt’s favourite bowtruckle in self-defense a few minutes later. Thank the founders there was no one in his office to witness the embarrassing episode.

Having coaxed Pickett onto his hand from where he’d apparently hitched a ride in Graves’ coat, he levelled a stern glare at the creature.

“Newt will be worried about you,” he informed the small face surrounded by twitchy leaves. “I assume you didn’t tell him of your planned excursion?”

Pickett’s crossed his little arms over his midsection and somehow managed to look smug. Of all the human habits he could’ve adopted, Graves wished he could’ve chosen a less frustrating one.

“There are reasons you stay with Newt when I go to work, you know,” he continued, trying hard not to think about the fact that he was attempting to reason with a _bowtruckle_. Pickett’s only reply was to grip Graves’ hand tighter.

They stared at each other for a moment.

“Fine,” Graves sighed, half because of the soft spot for any and all of Newt’s creatures that he’d swear up and down the Statue of Liberty he didn’t have, and half because there wasn’t much he could do about Pickett’s presence at this point anyway, short of apparating back to the suitcase. “But you’ll behave yourself, all right? I have meetings today.”

He rummaged around in his coat pocket for the charmed bit of parchment he’d insisted they get after the third time Newt didn’t show up to an arranged meeting because ‘ _I was distracted by [insert magical creature] here, I’m so sorry,_ _Percival_ ’.

 

            _Pickett is with me. I’ll do my best to keep him out of trouble._

 

Graves didn’t wait for a reply. His meeting with Picquery and her advisory council was in half an hour and he needed to get through the briefing notes first.

Twenty-five minutes later, when faced with the choice of either leaving Pickett – a being who could pick any lock in under a minute – unsupervised in his office and continuing to carry the bowtruckle around in his pocket as Newt usually did, Graves grudgingly chose the latter. It was probably too much to hope that the bowtruckle would behave himself throughout the meeting.

In fact, and possibly to his credit, Pickett made it about halfway through. Graves was half-heartedly listening to someone prattling on about MACUSA’s strained accounts when the room suddenly grew quiet. He didn’t need to look to realise that Pickett, having evidently grown bored of hiding in Graves’ pocket, had decided to climb back up to his favourite perch. Graves sighed internally, then brightened considerably when he realised that every single witch and wizard – even _Picquery_ , and boy would he not let her forget it – in the room was staring at him as if they had caught a glimpse of the impending apocalypse. If _this_ was the reaction to him bringing one of Newt’s creatures along, maybe he should do it more often.

“Something the matter, Councillors?” Graves asked, keeping his face purposely bland.

Picquery was the first to recover, face smoothing back into an impassivity that Graves could tell was now tinged with amusement. Others were not so self-controlled.

Councillor Coates cleared his throat. “Director, you, er, seem to have acquired a… passenger?”

Pickett, who’d graduated to playing with Graves’ hair, ignored all the stares expertly. Graves was starting to enjoy himself.

“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” he murmured.

Somewhere in the room someone quickly turned a laugh into a stifled cough. He suspected Councillor Cho, who was his favourite for many reasons, including her refusal to take any shit from the pompous windbags that made up most of the Congress.

“Is that a bowtruckle?” Akecheta, his second in command who had straightened from her customary dangerous slouch next to him, asked curiously.

“He is indeed,” Graves told her, then addressed the room at large. “Rest assured, we have the necessary permits. Now, shall we return to the topic at hand?”

He only just managed to rein in his smirk at the way several people mouthed ‘ _we??_ ’ as Seraphina called the meeting back to order. His lips did twitch a little, however, when Akecheta leaned closer to him and murmured, “Well played, sir.”

Pickett stayed on his shoulder for the rest of the meeting. No one brought up his presence again.

 

 

The meeting, for once, hadn’t run over its allotted time, leaving Graves free to drop by the cafeteria for an actual lunch, rather than the usual pot of coffee to compensate. Seated at the back of the wide room, he let Pickett hop onto the table

“I’m sorry, but I don’t have any food for you,” he told the bowtruckle, but Pickett didn’t appear to be listening. He was busy investigating the side dish of salad Graves’ guilty conscience had insisted on. A moment later he started fishing around the leaves with his spindly fingers and shoving his findings in his mouth.

According to Newt, a bowtruckle’s preferred food was wood lice. Graves resolved to never ever eat in the cafeteria _ever_ again.

He did, however, finish his soup out of a stubborn refusal to waste food. He was just mopping up the last smears from the bowl with bread that had been suspiciously soggy already, when hurried footsteps announced his favourite underling’s arrival.

“Mr Graves, are you – is that _Pickett_?” Tina sounded as confused as the Councillors had looked and Graves suppressed a smile.

“Indeed it is.”

A short pause followed. Then, “ _Why_?”

“Oh, did I forgot to mention? It’s bring your partner’s adopted magical creatures to work day,” he said dryly. “Why do you _think_ , Goldstein?”

Understanding dawned on her face like a very slow sunrise, and he perhaps somewhat hastily continued before she could draw _all_ the relevant conclusions. “Now, did you come here for some actually important reason?”

Goldstein snapped back to professionalism immediately. “Yes, sir. We’ve made a breakthrough with the Coolidge case.”

Graves nodded briskly and rose, gathering Pickett up as he went. “Briefing Room 1. You know the drill.”

Goldstein hurried off. Graves followed at a more deliberate pace. Once he found himself alone in the corridor he halted, coaxing Pickett onto his hand. He lifted the bowtruckle up until their eyes were on a level.

“Pickett,” he said solemnly, hoping he wasn’t about to make a complete fool out of himself (he’d already learned that ‘it worked when Newt did it’ wasn’t an argument that ever applied successfully to anyone else), “could you stay hidden in this meeting? I don’t want my aurors distracted when we’re closing in on a possible murder suspect. It’s important.”

Pickett blinked a few times, head leaves rustling gently, and then he very clearly nodded.

“Thank you,” Graves murmured and deposited the bowtruckle in the roomiest coat pocket himself.

Throughout the entire meeting Pickett stayed true to his word.

 

 

Graves was just on his way out to the disapparation area after a last check of whether any urgent mail had been deposited for him in his office when Pickett, peeking out of the coat pocket started to chitter loud enough to catch his attention.

“What is it?” he asked, frowning.

Pickett pointed towards the corner next to the lift, squeaking imperiously. As far as Graves could tell there was nothing there at all, but he remembered Newt saying something about bowtruckles and sensing magical residue, so he stepped forward carefully. A flick of his wand countered the powerful disillusionment charm to reveal a cloud of hovering darkness so absolute any light simply disappeared in its vicinity. Graves cursed under his breath. They’d found several traps laid by Grindelwald throughout the department – no rhyme or reason to them as far as Graves (or any of the other analysts) could tell, which meant that Grindelwald had left them simply as a joke. A game he forced them to play even while sitting in prison. It left a sour taste in Graves’ mouth – he was far too intimately acquainted with Gindelwald’s ‘games’ as it was and did not appreciate his department getting sucked into them.

“Thank you, Pickett,” he murmured. “I’ll make sure Newt lets you have some of those extra tasty treats he keeps around tonight.”

Pickett’s leaves shake in happy agreement.

Unsure what kind of curse Grindelwald had left behind, Graves simply cordoned off the area and informed the spell division before leaving. Hopefully they would have some answers for him by the morning, but for the moment he was tired enough to care little beyond getting back to the suitcase and Newt. He even forewent his usual pit-stop at his own house to change into more comfortable clothes.

(He really should ask Newt to move in with him one of these days.)

Newt was sitting at his work desk when he entered, hair askew and ink splattered all over slender fingers.

“Back already?” he asked, clearly distracted by the parchment in front of him, but when he glanced towards Graves his eyes were bright.

“It’s gone nine, love,” Graves informed him, amused despite himself. Newt always made the same incredulously surprised expression when he lost track of time – which was often. Pickett chittered from his pocket. “I think someone has missed you.”

Newt stretched out his hand, smiling, and Pickett abandoned Graves for his favourite human tree with alacrity.

“Have you been good for Percival?” Newt asked the bowtruckle, still clearly very much pleased that one of his creatures had taken to Graves to the extent that they’d wanted to spend a whole day with him.

Pickett squeaked.

“If his aim was to make me consider wanting a permanent bowtruckle consultant for the division then he did splendidly,” Graves said around a yawn. “Mercy Lewis, it’s been a long day.”

Newt stepped forward to brush a chaste kiss over Graves’ lips, who hummed happily.

“You can go on ahead to bed.” Newt scratched the back of his neck. “I may have, uh, forgotten about dinner.”

Graves shook his head at him, but didn’t even try to keep the fondness out of his voice when he said, “Of course you did.”

Newt blushed, a light dusting of red over all those enticing freckles. “It doesn’t happen _that_ often.”

“Whatever you say, dear.”

Graves knew for a fact that Newt had forgotten to feed himself five times already this week and they were only halfway through it. A year ago he would’ve said that if he absolutely _had_ to end up in a relationship with someone, it better be a person as neat and organised as Graves himself.

Now he found that he wouldn’t change Newt for the world.


	2. Chapter 2

**2\. The Niffler**

  


Graves returned from a week-long stint in Chicago trying to sort out the mess their branch of the DMLE had got themselves into in the wake of the Grindelwald Fiasco – he was somewhat dubious as to his effectiveness, but at least they were functioning again – to find Newt’s suitcase still parked in Graves’ living room and Newt himself pottering around the kitchen with a faint frown carved into his forehead. He hadn’t spotted Graves yet, and for a moment he allowed himself to lean against the door jamb and bask in the feeling of Newt _here_ , so comfortable in Graves’ home. Then Newt turned around, a cup of tea in his hand and his eyes lit up.

“You’re back! Is Chicago still standing then?”

“Despite their best efforts, yes,” Graves told him dryly, drawing Newt in for a kiss. “Couldn’t come home to a more pleasant scene though,” he added, trusting that Newt would read between the lines and arrive at _I missed you_ , and Newt’s smile turned shyly pleased in respones. Yet some disquiet lingered around him. Graves smoothed his thumb over the frown lines on Newt’s forehead.

“What’s wrong? Did something happen while I was away?”

Newt was avoiding his gaze. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s enough to make you anxious,” Graves countered, rising to the balls of his feet to kiss the same frowny spot his thumb had tried to smooth moments earlier. Newt’s eyes crinkled in that way he got when he couldn’t tell whether he was being patronised or not, yet couldn’t bring himself to make a fuss either way.

“I’m worried about Hugo. He’s been under the weather. Or moping, possibly. It’s hard to tell.”

“Who’s Hugo?”

“Ny niffler,” Newt told him with a reproachful look, as if Graves really should’ve known the beast’s name. Given that the appellations most commonly used around Newt’s extremely light-fingered niffler were ‘hey give that back’ or ‘you thieving little bastard’, Graves felt he should be cut some slack.

Besides –

“You named your niffler Hugo. _Hugo_. Newt, you may be the worst person at naming things I’ve ever met.”

A light blush dusted Newt’s freckled cheeks. “I’m not that bad, surely.”

“You named your thunderbird Frank, Newt.”

“Frank’s not really mine,” Newt protested, missing the point by about a mile. “He’s in Arizona now, flapping about as happy as a clam. Or, well, a thunderbird. Doesn’t have much in common with clams, really. Are clams happy? I’ve never - ”

Graves stopped the impending linguistic trainwreck in its tracks by kissing Newt again.

There was a pause.

“There’s nothing wrong with that name.”

Graves only smiled at him, utterly besotted with this whimsical, beautiful man in his arms. “What’s wrong with Hugo then?”

“I don’t know, that’s the problem.” One of Newt’s hands freed itself from Graves’ grip to run through his hair. “He barely leaves his hoard. Hasn’t tried to nick my watch in _days_. You know, suspicious behaviour like that.”

Not an expert in the behaviour of magical beasts beyond the dangers they posed, Graves could only shrug helplessly. He hated being useless, but if Newt didn’t know what was going on Graves certainly wasn’t going to figure it out. Besides he was tired after spending a week pointedly not yelling at incompetent people and he hadn’t seen Newt in as long – he was feeling selfish, and made Newt forget all about his niffler problem for a while.

 

 

He really rather regretted that decision the next morning, when he realised that Hugo had hitched a ride to MACUSA in his briefcase. The briefcase that was _supposedly_ spelled to prevent anyone but him from being able to open it. Holding the wriggling niffler in one hand, he waved his office door shut with the other and glared at the offending item. Clearly he needed to put some thought into niffler-proofing his belongings.

“What am I going to do with you?” he sighed, already resigned to a day more exhausting than it had any right to be.

The niffler squeaked. Its beady eyes were open wide and practically sparkling with guilelessness.

“If I let you down, will you immediately wreak havoc on my unsuspecting department?”

The niffler shook his head.

Graves couldn’t quite shake the feeling that he was getting suckered, but he could hardly go about his day holding a niffler in one hand, and he could just picture Newt’s disappointed face if he resorted to more extreme measures.

He set Hugo down on the desk. A heartbeat later all he could see of the niffler was his butt wriggling under the door before it too disappeared. Graves pinched the bridge of his nose, cast a glance at the teetering pile of paperwork on his desk, and then left his office to follow the trail of destruction.

He was already tired and it wasn’t even nine o’clock yet.

Overturned tables and wide-eyed aurors signposted the way to where a brown blur was busy nabbing that atrocious quill holder from Abernathy’s desk. Spotting Graves, Hugo moved on –somewhat to Graves’ bewilderment, not to the nearest shiny objects, but instead making a beeline for where Smith, one of his aurors, was standing far too close to one of the ladies from wand permit. Graves’ eyes narrowed. A moment later the man stumbled as if on thin air, landing on his ass, and the witch’s face was so full of relief that Graves immediately made a mental note to follow up on the incident. He had no patience for any kind of harassment in his department.

Fascinated, Graves watched the niffler run over two more men, seemingly at random but he made note of them anyway, and only when Hugo pocketed another ink well did he finally stretch out a hand to call the creature back to his person in a trail of stolen accessories. Protesting niffler safe in hand, Graves took out his wand and returned all items to their original places – even Abernathy’s quill holder (despite the department-wide agreement that it should die in a fire as soon as possible).

At this point most of his employees were openly goggling at him. He smiled, with just a hint of teeth, and in a commendably prompt flurry everyone looked busy again.

This time he kept a secure hold on Hugo’s scruff even as he sat him down on the desk. He levelled a hard gaze at the niffler, refusing to be moved by the innocent eyes and the fact that he was trying to stare down a _niffler_. Mercy Lewis. His life used to make sense.

“Newt would be very disappointed in you,” he informed the little thief. The niffler twitched minutely – a clear sign of a guilty conscience. Hugo might act as if Newt’s approval meant nothing to him, but Graves had noticed long ago that all of Newt’s creatures nursed soft spots of various sizes for their caretaker.

They kept staring at each other, and slowly the niffler’s expression turned so forlorn that Graves’ heartstrings couldn’t help but be tugged. He cast about for something that might be suitable and alighted on his silver inkwell. It had been a gift of a distant uncle of his he had never particularly liked. That would do.

With a soft _pop_ the ink vanished from the inkwell and Graves handed the item to the niffler, who stared at him and blinked a few times in what might have been surprise, if such emotions even translated to nifflers.

“If you don’t want it I can take it back,” Graves told him, and Hugo _meeped_ and clutched the inkwell closer to his chest.

“All right. You can stay right there and play with that while I actually do the work I’m paid to be doing, and if you try to escape again I’ll ward the door so that even you can’t get through. Understood?”

But Hugo was far too engrossed in examining his new inkwell to be paying any kind of attention to Graves, who sighed and readied himself. He sat the niffler on the desk, eyeing him warily.

Nothing happened – no mad dash for the door, no sulky glaring at being told to stay in the office, no destruction _within_ the office. Miracles, it seemed, did happen.

When Newt careened into his office half an hour later, looking all kinds of panicked, Graves was filling out supposedly vital paperwork (which was masquerading as an astonishingly boring ten-step-plan how to decrease inter-departmental tensions that apparently _desperately_ required his input) with one hand, while the other arm was being held hostage by the sleeping niffler, who was snoring as he lay stretched out on Graves’ forearm.

Newt looked like he’d ascended into heaven and would very much like a camera to memorialise the moment.

“You got him to _sleep_ ,” he said, voice full of the kind of surprised delight that only ever made an appearance when someone who wasn’t him managed to get along with his creatures. “When Tina called me about Hugo having got loose in the department I thought – ”

“That you’d happen upon the utter destruction of my domain?” Graves finished dryly and Newt blushed, ducking his head.

“Well, yes, frankly.”

Graves leant back in his seat, popping his spine as he went. “In all fairness, so did I. But he calmed down a lot once I gave him something to play with.”

Newt looked up with an expression of shock that Graves didn’t quite think was warranted. He _did_ get along with Newt’s menagerie most of the time.

“You did _what_?”

“I gave him my inkwell.” Graves frowned. “Should I not have done that?”

Something soft had entered Newt’s eyes, and he was smiling. “No, no, it’s perfectly all right. Explains his behaviour, too. Nifflers get quite attached when people give them things voluntarily. Not a lot of people do that, you know.”

“Oh,” Graves said, somewhat uncomfortable in the face of the veritable beam of pride Newt was levelling at him. “It seemed logical. They like shiny things.”

“Exactly! But most people aren’t willing to sacrifice something nice that they won’t get back.” Newt suddenly looked worried. “You did realise that you won’t get the inkwell back?”

“It was a gift from a great uncle I met once and detested, when I made auror. I don’t know why I even kept it this long, I certainly won’t miss it.”

Newt relaxed. “Oh, good. That’s a relief.” His eyes focused on the pile of paperwork Graves was trudging through. “Oh, um, am I keeping you from work?”

“I rather want to be kept,” Graves sighed. “According to this memo cooperation between departments has broken down completely and irreparably, which is of course why they’re asking all the department heads to fix it immediately. With a completely bullshit ten-step plan. Given that none of us noticed this disastrous break-down _before_ receiving this helpful memo, I expect we’ll be fine.” He smiled wryly. “Thrilling work, as you can see. Stay and have some tea?”

He _did_ stock his office with the leafy stuff just in case Newt ever spent any amount of time here. Newt looked torn for a moment, eyeing the stack of work dubiously, then caved to Graves’ pleading eyes.

  


The next time Graves ran across Goldstein, he gave her a list with three names and very specific instructions what she was allowed to do if his suspicions proved correct.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The niffler had to make an appearance, of course.
> 
> I so appreciate all of you who're reading this fic, and leaving kudos and comments. Thank you!


	3. Chapter 3

**3\. The Occamy**

  


Graves was in the middle of a perfectly pleasant dream (for once), when his sleep was interrupted by Newt climbing all over the bed like a monkey, making excited noises.

“What?” Graves slurred, opening bleary eyes to find Newt’s shapely backside disappearing into a pair of trousers. Shame.

“I just got word about a flock of diricawl in London,” Newt said at great speed. “Theseus sent a portkey.”

Graves’ sleepy brain managed to untangle about every second word of the sentence, but that was enough for it to eventually penetrate that Newt was _leaving_ , which was enough to wake him up all the way.

“ _Now_?”

Newt halted in hopping on one foot while pulling on his boots and nodded. “Apparently they’re causing some mayhem in muggle London. They must be very frightened.”

Graves only just swallowed his groan. Of course Newt would be worried about the diricawls rather than the breach of the statute of secrecy. “When will you be back?”

“Don’t know!” Newt called, already halfway out the bedroom door. “I’ll take the suitcase, so you won’t have to worry about anything.”

Graves had just managed to struggle out from under the nest of blankets Newt insisted on piling onto the bed when he felt the telltale surge of magic that heralded the activation of a portkey. Groaning to himself, he flopped back onto the bed – only to pop up again at the enraged screech that emanated from somewhere under the blankets.

Oh. Oh no.

Now that he concentrated he _could_ dimly recall Newt bringing an upset occamy to bed last night. Something about warmth and contact and the other occamy being standoffish. And now Newt had forgotten little Athena (Newt’s naming practices knew nothing in between comically mundane and mysteriously mythological) in his rush to get to England and rescue diricawls, and had left her alone in the bed with Graves. Graves, who had never looked after any of the creatures for longer than a few hours on his own. Graves, who was certainly not qualified to take care of a young occamy chick. He stared blankly at the bedroom wall. What was he going to do now?

Supremely unconcerned and unaware of Graves’ mental meltdown, the occamy wound itself around his wrist, cheeping happily at the warmth. Graves probably still smelt like Newt too, both naturally and magically.

A likely future path opened up in front of his eyes, and it involved taking a baby occamy to work. Mercy Lewis, how did Newt _do this_?

It was a somewhat flustered Graves who turned up at MACUSA five minutes late with a disillusioned occamy still wound around his left arm. Thankfully the creature hadn’t done more than cheep curiously as the spell washed over her – occamys, or so Newt had informed him, were mostly motivated by instinct, unlike other magical creatures like phoenixes and acromantulas and dragons, which behaved far more deliberately. (Graves would add the niffler to that list, given that he was still convinced half the reason Hugo kept stealing things was because he was a little shit.) Point was, he really wanted to avoid Athena spooking and accidentally smothering him because she suddenly quadrupled her size and weight.

The only thing that kept his face impassive as he strode through the hallways was the knowledge that his disillusionment charms were _excellent_. No one so much as looked at him oddly, unaware that he was carrying what amounted to a charmed winged snake around his arm.

Moving through the bullpen, he barked, “Goldstein, my office!”

Her response was both gratifyingly quick and lacked the quiver of uncertainty that had marked most of his interactions with his employees for the first few weeks after he’d returned from sick leave. He didn’t miss it.

“Sir?” she asked, standing at attention in front of his desk.

“What are you currently working on, Goldstein?”

She frowned slightly, but answered readily enough. “Just the report for the incident in Queens yesterday.”

“Good. In that case get me a jar of bugs. I don’t much care how.”

Goldstein’s eyes widened in surprise and she visibly pushed back the dozens of questions no doubt clamouring to be asked.

“Right,” she said. “I’ll get right on that.”

“Much obliged.”

While waiting for her to return, Graves made a first stab at dealing with the paperwork on his desk, careful not to jostle Athena while moving about. To think that he’d once though that Director of Magical Security would be an _exciting_ job. Unless one considered being drowned in paperwork on a daily basis exciting, in which case one would be hard pressed to find a _more_ exciting one. He’d barely managed to get through one report – Abernathy’s prose was, as usual, horrendously dense – when she returned, slightly out of breath. He should probably commend her on efficiency some time soon.

A glass jar filled with some sort of glowing bug landed on his desk.

Graves eyed it somewhat dubiously. “Do I want to know where you got those from?”

“Some of the storage cellars are quite warm and damp,” she told him cheerfully. “Newt said it’s just the right environment for fireflies, though they prefer the outside of course.”

Graves pointedly didn’t ask why Goldstein had been touring MACUSA’s cellars with Newt. Having seen the cellars himself, he wouldn’t be at all surprised if it turned out some monstrous creature had made them their home and Newt couldn’t resist one of those to save his life. “Fair enough.”

She hesitated. “Um, can I ask why you need these?”

“Might as well,” he sighed. If things started going wrong, Golstein was his best chance at helping. Besides she was already casting slightly bewildered looks in the direction of the disillusioned occamy. “Newt was called to London to help out with some emergency. He happened to forget little Athena here, so now I’m stuck with an occamy at work.”

At the same time he lifted the disillusionment charm, causing her to gasp. “That could be... a bit problematic. Does Newt know?”

“I considered telling him, but I know little about the situation he’s walking into.” He grimaced. “Distracting him seems unwise.”

She nodded, understanding him completely. While Newt usually became very very focussed when he approached new creatures, things could go wrong easily enough that neither of them had any intention of jeopardising his mental state.

“I don’t suppose you know much about occamys?”

She shook her head. “I saw Newt feeding them a few times, and I helped him retrieve the escaped occamy during the Grindelwald Fiasco, but nothing beyond that.”

Graves sighed glumly. “Thought as much. Merlin knows what I’m going to do if she decides to go big.”

“There’s always the teapot manoeuvre.” Goldstein shrugged. “Also, you’re spending too much time with Newt, Sir. You’re starting to sound English.”

He didn’t even try to eradicate the grudging fondness from his expression. “Don’t be pert. And Tina? Thank you.”

“My pleasure, boss,” she dimpled at him and disappeared back out into the hallway.

Mentally reviewing his schedule for the day, Graves realised with a sinking feeling that he’d allotted his usual check-up on the city for this morning. He’d never been entirely content just sitting in an office and occasionally going out on the riskier operations, both because it was boring and because he maintained that it was foolish to be in a position of power, making decisions that could potentially affect wizards and witches all over the city (and country, but there were limits even to his time), without occasionally venturing out into the city proper. No amount of reports could replace getting a feel for the atmosphere himself.

Tugging on his coat, he stuck the jar of fireflies into a pocket and apparated to an out-of-the-way alley close to wizarding high street. His apparition allowance within MACUSA headquarters was possibly his favourite perk of the job, though he tried not to use the privilege too often – it wouldn’t do to get lazy. As he re-materialised, he became aware of Athena shrieking in outrage, tightening her hold on his arm as she vented her displeasure with the feeling of getting squeezed within an inch of her life.

Graves cursed quietly under his breath and fumbled for the jar. A moment later Athena happily crunched down on a hapless bug and he slumped in relief. It was good to know that bribery with food would always be an option. He moved along his usual route, varying occasional streets just to avoid becoming too predictable, and strangely enough he found himself enjoying the occasional curious chirps and the sliding warmth of the occamy’s body around his forearm. Though it definitely helped that the streets were quiet, as they had been pretty much since the Grindelwald Fiasco. The entire wizarding society had been spooked and rightly so. Soon enough people would stop laying quite so low, but Graves was going to enjoy the quiet while it lasted.

He returned to the office in a much better mood. He only had a meeting with Picquery later on to prepare for, and nothing else on the docket for the rest of the day, so he lingered in the bullpen, checking up on his aurors and making sure everyone was satisfied. People outside of his department tended to imagine that he was a harsh boss, unforgiving and cold – and the aurors did little to dispel that thinking, quietly fond of Graves as they were – but the truth was that Graves was well aware that departments ran better when the people working in them were content. And besides, his employees didn’t leave him the hell alone for long enough to cultivate aloofness either way, and as long as they still respected him and followed his orders he was just more or less fine with that.

(It made Grindelwald’s deception rankle all the more, to think that none of them thought to check that it was actually _him_ sentencing a civilian and one of their own to death.)

Once he was back in his office, Athena must’ve sensed the decrease in his wariness, for she stuck her head out of his sleeve, chirped, and started winding her way up his arm. Graves froze at the first touch of smooth scales on his throat, auror instincts leaping to defend himself from the potentially dangerous creature _looping herself around_ _his_ _neck_. It took some effort to remain still and not go for his wand, but he finally managed to relax a little when Athena cheeped into his ear happily. He mentally awarded himself a point on the ‘things Newt would be pleased with’ chart. After a while the weight around his neck became background noise and he got lost in the work again.

He did not expect a man to barge into his office without so much as a by-your-leave.

“I demand to speak to the Director of Magical Security!” the wizard cried. He looked agitated, high spots of colour on his cheeks, and the richness of his clothes only emphasised the sweat and pallor of his skin. Some ‘important citizen’ no doubt, to have the nerve to enter Graves’ office without invitation, and so rudely too. He would have to have a word with his aurors about letting people pass unannounced like this. Or maybe he should just get around to hiring a new secretary after Grindelwald fired his last one.

Graves slowly let his gaze travel up and down the man’s form, buying time with icy silence, and finally the face clicked – he had seen the file with this man’s photograph attached just a few days ago.

“You _are_ , Mr. Hooper,” he said, voice more frigid than New York in winter. “Though that will hardly help you, given the manner of your _uninvited_ entrance.”

Any sane man would pick up on the undercurrent of threat in Graves’ statement and beat a strategic retreat. Unfortunately Mr. Hooper appeared to be both spectacularly stupid and verging on the insane, for he continued blustering.

“There’s been a most cruel injustice carried out against me by your department!” he cried, at such a volume that Graves almost flinched and Athena made an irritated noise. “My house was searched without – ”

“With a _warrant_ because you were implicated in the highly illegal trade of unicorn blood,” Graves snapped, patience already thin. “Now I suggest you take your complaint where it actually belongs, MACUSA’s citizen department, or I _will_ have you removed from the premises.”

Hooper, against all common sense, drew himself up and declared, at an impressive volume, “I do not accept – ”

While Hooper was talking, Graves became very, very aware of Athena uncoiling, hissing threateningly at the human who appeared to threaten _her_ human. With a sudden rush of misplaced air the occamy grew in size dramatically, until she occupied the entire back half of Graves’ office. Graves himself was pushed forward towards the desk by a coil of midnight blue scales whilst Athena’s head – now bigger than his own – appeared over his right shoulder to glare at the intruder.

Hooper stopped talking.

The hasty step back the man took was supremely satisfying.

“This, Mr. Hooper, is an occamy,” he said, in a conversational tone that belied his own discomfort. “When they feel threatened they grow bigger, to fill all the available space. Now, if I were you I would think _very hard_ about your next action.”

Graves tried not to think about the fact that if Hooper continued to be an idiot and ended up squashed against the wall, Graves himself would already be flattened into a pancake by a tonne of occamy.

So it was with some well-hidden relief that he watched Hooper swallow nervously, before he squeaked, “My apologies, Director,” and booked it.

Athena’s low hiss turned into a self-satisfied chirrup and her head retreated from Graves’ shoulder. Pressed into the hard wood of his desk as he was – not that he’d let Hooper see his discomfort – Graves had to expend some effort into retrieving his charmed notebook to jot down an instruction for Vincenni to make sure Mr. Hooper left the building directly (and to arrest him the next time he ventured into it) and then asked Goldstein to bring a teapot.

Despite all the hassle, he couldn’t quite help himself murmuring, “Good job, Athena.”

The look on Hooper’s face had _definitely_ been worth it.

In the end they only had to the use the teapot manoeuvre the once, Athena probably got more bugs to eat than was quite healthy, and Graves spent the rest of the day with a satisfied occamy wound around his neck like a scarf. He didn’t continue bothering with a disillusionment charm. Picquery glanced at him once, stopped short, then shrugged, clearly unwilling to get drawn into whatever madness Graves was cooking up now, and ran through the meeting exactly as scheduled. When he returned from the meeting via the bullpen, he encountered a lot of cooing by the assembled battle-hardened aurors and had to fend off quite a few curious hands going for Athena’s head. Apparently personal space ceased to be a relevant concept when one was carrying a magical creature around one’s neck. Graves made a mental note to investigate possible uses for undercover operations, then growled at Johnson when the man tried to sneak up from behind to get a better look at.

In the background, Goldstein was looking like she was trying very hard not to laugh.

  


  


Newt returned so early the next morning that Graves was still in bed, Athena slumbering beside him.

“You need to get a new babysitter, love,” Graves told him muzzily, only half awake. “They’re too much work.”

He fell back asleep to the sound of Newt’s light chuckle.


	4. Chapter 4

**4\. The Demiguise**

  


The third consecutive night that Graves returned long past dinner time, Newt finally graduated from frowning heavily to actually voicing his protest.

“You need to take better care of yourself,” he said, chin set stubbornly and holding Graves’ tired gaze. “You’re working yourself to the bone.”

“We’re understaffed,” Graves reminded him wearily. “Half the department is off with the flu. I can’t very well ask people to put in so much overtime without being willing to do it myself.”

Newt huffed out a sigh. “I’m pretty confident the only reason you haven’t caught ill yet is sheer force of will. You’re as stubborn as a niffler.”

“Slander,” Graves breathed and pulled Newt close. He might’ve been tired, but for some things there would always be enough energy.

Neither of them noticed Dougal ambling away from the bedroom door, a considering look in his luminous eyes. That alone might not have spelled any trouble, if Graves hadn’t also failed to notice the invisible creature following along behind him as he walked to the Woolworth building in the morning, as well as the door warden’s puzzled check of the wards after he passed through. In his defence, he was tired, even more cranky than usual, and a headache had been pounding away behind his temples since he’d woken up. _Not sick_ , in his case, was a bit of a fluid concept.

He probably also shouldn’t have accidentally taken a nap at his desk, but who was counting.

Graves woke to the feeling of careful fingers sifting through his hair and a rather uncomfortable parchment edge digging into his cheek where it lay pillowed on the day’s reports. It wasn’t quite the first time he’d fallen asleep at work, but it never ceased to be vaguely embarrassing and, of course, completely unprofessional. His head might’ve been doing its best to murder him, but that wasn’t an excuse to be slacking off – not when there was so much damned work to do.

Wait. Fingers?

He opened his eyes and almost yelped in shock. Huge, luminous eyes were studying him critically and only the instant recognition of one of Newt’s more intrepid creatures stopped him from flailing his arm and potentially harming the demiguise crouching on his desk. Crouching on his desk and… grooming him? The feeling of Dougal’s clever fingers in his hair was surprisingly soothing, as was the low croon the demiguise was emitting. His nose twitched. Usually his office didn’t smell of food.

He raised his head from the desk, dislodging Dougal’s hand as he went and found his desk _covered_ in food items. There were at least ten sandwiches – some, he noted with some distaste, already with bites missing and he really hoped that the demiguise hadn’t just yanked the food out of his unsuspecting employees’ hands – a variety of sweet rolls and cakes, and even a steaming bowl of soup of some description.

“And here I thought only the niffler was in danger of robbing my department blind,” Graves groaned, more to himself than Dougal but the demiguise chittered happily anyway. “I can’t just eat other people’s food,” he informed the creature.

Dougal stubbornly kept pointing at the food, making demanding noises every time Graves tried to go back to work.

“Fine,” he finally snapped, glaring at the intractable demiguise who was apparently taking all of Newt’s quirks and raising them to an art form. “Let’s make a deal. I will eat _one_ of these sandwiches, and you will take all the rest of the food back to where it came from.”

Dougal tilted his shaggy head, then narrowed his eyes at Graves, clearly suspicious, and pointed at the food again.

Graves sighed, but his stomach did feel empty and he was pretty sure continuing this stand-off would only prove even more embarrassing in the long run, so he took the most appetising-looking of the sandwiches and bit into it.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” he grumpily informed the demiguise through a mouthful of truly excellent sandwich. It disappeared in a few more hurried bites. Dougal looked satisfied, and pushed a cup of steaming tea towards him. Newt’s influence again, and Graves didn’t even want to know where he’d got the beverage from. But he still dutifully drank the whole cup.

Dougal chirruped, as if in approval and became invisible. After a few minutes of invisible to and fro that Graves was only privy to because the wards he’d slapped on his door kept flashing, his desk became visible beneath all the food again.

Dougal had just returned the mystery soup to its owner, when the wards flashed again and Graves suddenly had an invisible demiguise hiding behind his chair.

Akecheta entered his office, looking calm and composed, dark hair twisted into a bun today, but with a dangerous glint in her eyes that immediately caused him to tense up, hand instinctively going for his wand.

“Possible security breach, Director,” she reported. Her wand was already out. “We’ve got reports of an invisible intruder on this level.”

Graves relaxed again. “Ah, yes, that’s already taken care of.”

Akecheta stared at him and he couldn’t help noticing that the tip of her wand was surreptitiously moving to point at him. “What?”

He sighed, feeling his headache threatening to intensify. Ever since the whole Grindelwald Fiasco people had been rather quicker to find his behaviour suspicious. Not that he could entirely blame them.

“A demiguise followed me to work,” Graves explained curtly, hoping he could avoid getting into the whys and hows of the situation. “Havoc in the wake of an invisible creature is an unfortunate side-effect.”

His explanation didn’t have the desired effect. Akecheta was still staring at him suspiciously, looking like she was on the verge of hexing him just on principle. That left only one option.

“Dougal?” he called towards the spot where he’d last seen the demiguise. “Would you mind becoming visible for a moment? Akecheta here is my second-in-command. She won’t hurt you”– he glanced at her tense bearing – “and should she be _foolish_ enough to try, I’ll protect you.”

He felt soft fur brush his arm a moment before Dougal became visible at his side. The demiguise made a noise, half wary, half interested.

Creature and woman stared at each for a long moment. Finally some of the tension drained out of Akecheta and she raised a brow. “Shouldn’t you have informed security at least, sir?”

“I only just found out myself,” he grumbled, giving Dougal a pointy look which the demiguise ignored. “Besides, I’m rather gratified to find that the department hasn’t been slacking. An excellent exercise, don’t you think?”

“I think you’ve been spending too much time with that magizoologist of yours,” she returned dryly, but she did finally relax enough to put her wand away. Her forehead twisted into a thoughtful frown. “There _are_ some potential training applications.”

“You’ll have to talk to Mr. Scamander about that. He might even still be listed as a consultant after he helped us out with that unicorn.”

Akecheta smirked. “I rather doubt I’ll have any trouble getting a hold of him, seeing how often he hangs around the department and all.”

She had a point, not that Graves needed to acknowledge that out loud.

“Anything else on the docket, now that you’re here already?”

“We’ve been lucky so far.” She shrugged. “The criminal element doesn’t seem to have realised that we’re currently missing almost half our operatives.”

“Just give them time,” Graves predicted glumly.

  


  


Newt wandered in a few hours after lunch, looking remarkably unhurried for someone who’d misplaced a demiguise.

He planted an affectionate kiss on Graves’ cheek, then plopped himself down onto the visitor chair (a new addition). Dougal immediately hopped into his lap.“Are you looking after yourself, Percival?”

Graves gave him a dirty look. “I’m hardly given a choice, between you and your demiguise stand-in.”

Newt petted Dougal on the head, unfazed. “Yes, you’ve done a good job, haven’t you, Dougal? I’m very proud of you.”

“You really shouldn’t encourage them to invade my workplace,” Graves grumbled. “One of these days someone is going to complain and then were will we be.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry,” Newt commented blithely. “Tina said everyone’s getting very fond of your companions. Dougal got quite a lot of head scritches when he returned people’s lunch food, once they realised he’d been trying to feed _you_. She was happy to sacrifice her sandwich for the cause.”

Graves groaned. Of course it had to have been Goldstein’s sandwich. And the last thing he needed was all of his aurors banding together under Newt’s banner of ‘drive the Director crazy through mother-henning’.

“I can take care of myself, you know,” he grouched, and tried very hard not to be placated when Newt’s eyes softened.

“I know that, Percy. The point is that you don’t _have_ to, not all the time.”

Dammit, he could already feel himself softening. There really wasn’t any reply to a statement like that that wasn’t unacceptably soppy.

He was saved from having to come up with something to say by a knock on the door, followed by Auror Johnson inching inside.

“Sir, Mr. Scamander,” he greeted, with the air of one who’d lost the coin toss determining who had to tell the boss they’d screwed up this time.

“What is it, Johnson?”

“Uh, we, that is, some of the lads from the research division, are wondering whether we could borrow the demiguise” – his eyes cut to Newt – “uh, Dougal?, for a bit. Goldstein said they could make themselves invisible and we’re testing a new ward that’s supposed to pick up on any kind of disillusionment.”

Graves’ eyes narrowed. “Is there any risk to Dougal involved?”

“No, not at all,” Johnson hurried to say. “The ward would only mark someone invisible passing through, no defensive measure attached.”

Dougal made an interested noise. Graves looked at Newt, who shrugged.

“Fine by me then, if Dougal is willing, as long as you’re aware that you’ll have to answer to a very pissed off Brit if any harm comes to him. Newt, would you supervise?”

Newt nodded and rose from the chair, Dougal in his arms. Parts of his lap looked faintly translucent for a moment, before he shifted and a few strands of long hair drifted to the floor. Johnson looked delighted.

“And bring him home after, would you?” Graves called after them, just before the door to his office fell shut.

Right. He supposed he could put this one down as a point for himself in regards to achieving long-term goals. Newt was very keen on getting MACUSA as a whole to accept and work with creatures rather than fear and hunt them before they could expose wizardkind.

Graves stared at the paperwork he’d fallen asleep on, then stood up and grabbed his coat. The auror bullpen fell silent as he passed, but he didn’t pay any attention as he headed for one desk in particular.

“Goldstein, get your coat,” he said, propelling her along with a firm hand on her arm, “we’re going for lunch. And please do pass along my compliments to your sister – she makes excellent sandwiches.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because we all needed Dougal mothering Graves in our lives.


	5. Chapter 5

**5\. The Swooping Evil**

  


However much Newt griped occasionally about Graves’ work habits and what they did to his health, he could always tell when something serious had gone wrong. Graves had barely made it out into the habitats in search of him, feeling old and impossibly _weary_ , when Newt came bustling out of the plains habitat that he was repurposing for who knew what. He’d ditched his coat and rolled up the sleeves of the white shirt he wore under Graves’ favourite burgundy waistcoat up to his elbows, and for a brief wonderful moment Graves forgot all about his worries.

Then Newt frowned, taking in the tired cast of Graves’ features and the way he held himself so tightly that he appeared in danger of snapping entirely, and the moment was gone.

“Percival?”

Newt didn’t need to say anything else. His concern and worry were clear from the lilt of his voice, the way his hands started fidgeting with his sleeves, the mirrored sympathy and disquiet in his eyes at seeing Graves so openly discomforted.

Technically he wasn’t allowed to tell Newt any of this, but that was one rule Graves was happy to break if it meant Newt was forewarned.

“There have been sightings of known Grindelwald supporters in the city.”

Graves didn’t try to disguise the bleakness rising through his throat, the stirrings of memories he’d wanted to forget. His hands felt cold. He drew them back into the sleeves of his cloak, then winced when Newt’s eyes tracked the motion. He hadn’t felt this unsettled by what had happened for months. He had thought he was getting _better_.

Graves didn’t know how much of his circling thoughts Newt guessed and understood, but suddenly the other man was there, a comforting warmth at his side as he guided Graves over towards the occamy nest.

“Here, sit down for a moment,” Newt instructed and Graves, too numb to do anything else, simply did as he was told for once. The feeling of soft grass beneath him was grounding and he readily leaned against the occamys’ wicker nest. A moment later a warm weight slithered onto his shoulder and Athena happily squeaked into his ear.

Newt squatted down next to him, still looking worried. “Is Grindelwald… is he here?” he asked quietly, eyes fixed on Graves.

For the shortest flash of a moment Graves could _feel_ the weight of enchanted cuffs around his wrists, then the sensation vanished and he shivered. His hands were twitching with the need to release his agitated magic, to make sure they were still safe. “We don’t know. No one knows where he is.”

Newt shifted as if to move forward, then stopped himself. “Percival, can I come over? Can I touch you?”

A part of Graves’ mind recognised that this was what Newt did with a hurt creature, voice soothing and gentle, avoiding sudden movement. A greater part responded, calming a little, and the light around his fingertips faded.

He nodded.

Still Newt moved slowly, reaching out slowly until he could draw Graves into his arms, warm and solid and unlike anything he’d encountered during his captivity. Some of the tension buzzing along his spine released, and he turned his face into Newt’s neck. Athena chirped in reproach as she was mashed between them, but didn’t move from her spot around Graves’ neck.

“I’m sorry,” Graves mumbled into the hairs that curled at the nape of Newt’s neck. “I thought I had overcome...”

He trailed off. Newt’s thumb was brushing reassuring circles into his hair.

“It’s all right,” Newt murmured, sounding pained and worried and achingly sad. “It’s not your fault. No one can live through what you were forced to live through and come out entirely unchanged. That’s what cruelty is for, you see. They wouldn’t be content if it didn’t keep hurting.”

He wished Newt was wrong. He wished he could argue with him, claim that he was fine, really, and Grindelwald had no hold over his fears and memories any longer. But right now he was too tired to try and pretend.

When Graves finally drew back from the embrace, there were tears glistening in Newt’s eyes and he pressed a kiss to each lid as they closed.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he whispered. “Go mad, probably.”

Newt opened his eyes again, a sudden fierceness sparking in them. “You’re stronger than you think, Percival. Stronger than that, and stronger than Grindelwald expected.”

Athena chose that moment to squeak, as if in agreement.

A smile tugged at his lips. “Too stubborn to let him win, maybe.” He paused, eyes tracking towards Newt’s artificial horizon. “There’ll be a raid tomorrow. Our informant got us an address.”

Newt stilled. “You’re going?”

“I’m the Director, Newt,” Graves reminded him and now it was his turn to sound gentle. “And the best duellist at MACUSA. I _have_ to go.”

In the silence that followed, the sounds of Newt’s creatures all around filled the air, the occamys’ chirping, a faint clinking from the niffler’s nest, rustling sounds as the dung beetles went about their business. Grindelwald felt far away.

Finally Newt spoke. “I know you have to go, just, please. Be careful. These days I wouldn’t really know what to do without you either.”

“I know what you’d do, and so do your creatures,” Graves told him, eyes serious. “I’ll be careful, I promise.”

  


Graves went to work the next day with his promise hovering at the back of his mind. It wasn’t that he hadn’t cared about his life before Newt, but there was still something different about facing danger when knowing that he would be leaving something behind beyond an empty house and a department in chaos.

When he arrived, the atmosphere in the department was tense, but not unbearably so. Nine other aurors were scheduled to accompany him, including Goldstein and Johnson. He would’ve liked to take Akecheta – the woman was an absolute menace with offensive spells of all kinds – but policy dictated only one of the two of them could go out into the field at a time. Should the worst case scenario occur, the department needed some form of leadership still.

Graves surveyed the men and women assembled in front of him.

“You’ve all been briefed, so I’ll keep this short. Standard procedures apply, but I want you all to be particularly careful. We don’t believe Grindelwald will be there, but we’ve been wrong before and some of his supporters are strong wizards in their own right. Keep close to me and back each other up. Vincenni, you’re rear guard and in charge of getting back-up should it look like we need it. All clear?” He waited for everyone’s nods, noting the determined expressions all around with grim pleasure. It seemed they’d not yet forgiven Grindelwald his meddling with their department either. “In that case, apparate to the staging point in three, two, _one_.”

Wand a reassuring weight in his hand, he disapparated. A moment later he re-emerged in the side-alley close to the modified warehouse their informant had pointed out to find Goldstein and Vincenni already there and muted cracks all around heralding everyone else’s arrival.

One shared look, silent nods, and then Graves stepped forward towards the rusty door that seemed to double as a main entrance. Three aurors peeled off to head for back entrance. There always was a one with these kinds of places. The rusty door yielded to a well-applied blasting curse and then Graves was through into the murky hall beyond.

His first thought was filled with relief: _Grindelwald wasn’t there_. His second came closer to a curse: there were a _lot_ more wizards assembled in the room than they’d been warned about. A first count revealed twenty, and that was only in the main room. Then curses started flying and the time for thinking was past. Graves hit two enemies with curses that would keep them out of the fight in quick succession, but when the moment of surprise fell away it soon became clear just how depressingly outnumbered they were. He jumped out of the way of some violently purple hex he didn’t recognise and hit a third wizard with a silent _stupefy_ just as Johnson screamed. Graves turned back to find the auror on the ground, blood spreading all around him, and he cursed.

“Defensive formation!” he barked, already on his way towards the fallen auror. Losing Johnson was not an acceptable outcome. Graves wasn’t losing a single person more to fucking _Grindelwald_.

His aurors formed up around them, concentrating on defensive spells, as he knelt on the blood-stained ground. Hawthorne was limping and Goldstein’s arm was bleeding, but they were all still fighting. They were also losing. Vincenni was gone, hopefully for back-up, but Graves couldn’t fight and heal Johnson _at the same time_. Another curse flew towards the unconscious auror, bouncing off Graves’ reflexive shield charm. Gritting his teeth, he reinforced the shield and turned his attention to Johnson. Running his wand over the gashes marring large patches of the man’s chest – shit, that was one nasty hex – he chanted healing spells under his breath and was almost, _almost_ distracted enough to miss the sudden wriggling in his coat pocket. He had a moment’s grace to get his surprise under control before something green and blue burst out of his coat pocket, screeching angrily and passing right through his shield before angling for the nearest dark wizard.

For a moment Graves simply stared, mouth slightly open. What the _hell_ was Newt’s swooping evil doing in his coat? She had never, as far as he was aware, been anywhere far away from Newt. Ever.

With some effort of will Graves concentrated on Johnson once more to finish what healing he could. The bleeding had already stopped and some colour was back in the auror’s face, so Graves was hopeful he’d pull through.

By the time he’d finished and stood up again, ready to rejoin the fight, the Grindelwald supporters had fallen into chaos. Admittedly, so would any group faced with an unknown creature swooping down on them in an attempt to eat their brains. Maybe Graves should be more concerned about the whole ‘eating brains’ thing, but he wasn’t feeling very charitable at the moment. Besides she hadn’t _actually_ eaten anyone’s brains yet (pity).

It was the work of minutes to round up the last stragglers, the swooping evil setting down triumphantly over the final wizard’s face.

At a loss as to what else to do, Graves whistled sharply and held out his hand like he’d seen Newt do. To his immense relief, she detached herself from the prone man and a moment later he held a little cocoon of swooping evil in his hand. He was almost disappointed he hadn’t seen more of her in flight, stunning colours swirling as she dove and twirled. Except for how he couldn’t be because swooping evils were dangerous enough that she shouldn’t be flying around unsupervised, and he wasn’t even that interested in magical creatures in the first place.

Right.

… Dammit Newt.

“Thank you,” he whispered to her and didn’t even feel foolish.

Possibly murderous creature tucked away safely in his coat once more, he turned back to his aurors. Most were busy restraining Grindelwald supporters, which was fortunate because the rest were all staring at him.

Hawthorne’s eyes were wide and her dark skin had paled. “Is that a _swooping evil_ , sir?”

She probably hadn’t been there for the confrontation in the subway station that Graves had only ever heard tales (of varying clarity and believability) about then.

“Yes, Hawthorne,” he responded, loud enough that the others would be able to hear too. He hardly wanted to answer the same round of questions more than once. “The same one who restrained Grindelwald, in fact.”

“… Which you just happen to carry around in your coat pocket.”

“Oh, she normally stays with Newt,” he informed her, tone bordering on cheery as he pretended not to notice the alarmed looks all around. “He’s the expert after all.”

“Mr. Graves, do stop scaring everyone,” Goldstein called from where she was hog-tying the last enemy wizard. “Mr. Scamander’s creatures are too fond of you to try and eat any of your subordinates.”

Graves grinned.

Back-up, led by Vincenni, chose that moment to burst through the remains of the door, only to stop in a general milling of confusion at finding the fight over already.

“What happened?” Vincenni asked, looking around the tied-up wizards littering the floor.

“We had some… unexpected assistance,” Graves replied, then turned to the group of back-up aurors. “My apologies. At the time of Vincenni’s decision, we really did need reinforcements. You can help us get this lot back to headquarters.”

  


A few hours later, Graves found himself staring somewhat blankly at his report of the operation. None of the apprehended wizards had talked as to what the hell Grindelwald had been intending with all this, which was a head-ache and a half, but that wasn’t even the current problem. The current problem was, in fact, a complete and utter lack of precedence – he had no idea how to write ‘a brain-eating creature who is fond of the Director’s ~~boyfriend~~ ~~husband-to-be~~ partner decided to intervene and took out half the enemy forces in one swoop’ and not sound like a complete lunatic. And he hadn’t even decided whether it would be worse to claim that he was casually carrying around lethal beasts in his coat pocket or to admit that he hadn’t even known the swooping evil was there in the first place.

  


“Newt, did you put a swooping evil in my pocket?”

“No, no of course not.” Newt was kissing along his jaw, one hand splayed over Graves’ heart as if to make sure it was still beating. “I just asked Hera nicely. She was quite keen, actually. Athena has been spreading tales.”

Graves huffed, but felt far too languid to put up any real protest over Newt’s meddling. Especially not when Newt paused, his green eyes inches from Graves’ own, looking solemn. “Someone has to make sure you come back to me when I’m not around to protect you.”

Graves debated pointing out that he’d done just fine (barring a certain incident with the most evil wizard of his time) for decades before Newt had shown up and was, in fact, a fully capable auror, but then Newt did something magical with his tongue that prompted rational thought to take an unauthorised leave of absence and, really, arguing sounded like too much effort anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit different this time. I hope you enjoyed the chapter anyway.
> 
> Only got the +1 to go still!


	6. Chapter 6

**+1 The Nundu**

 

Graves, like far too often in recent memory, managed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time – in this case: walking past the research division just as an out-of-control spell broke through their wards, bounced off a few walls and hit Graves square in the chest before he even had the time to draw his wand.

The world dissolved into pain and he could feel his body shifting, muscles tearing and realigning, and when he opened his mouth to shout a shrieking growl escaped instead. The moment the pain ebbed a little, Graves was up on four legs, instincts searching for a defendable corner. The part of his mind that clung to human reason registered voices shouting all around him, a confusing cacophony of _oh fuck_ and _shit did we just hex the Director_ and _someone get Goldstein, he probably won’t murder her_. Still growling, Graves backed up on padded paws, ears twitching frantically. When he looked down he saw tawny, golden fur ripple down to paws topped with hooked claws. The smells around him were dizzying, and even as the lack of follow-up attack calmed him a little bit, a not inconsiderable part of his brain was currently overrun by cat instincts, twitching to run and leave this confusing mess behind.

 _Mountain lion_ , rational Graves supplied. Somehow he’d been forced into his animagus form – a form he used rarely enough that he hadn’t been prepared at all. Big felines didn’t exactly blend in easily in a city like New York.

Footsteps hurried closer, and Graves couldn’t quite stop from growling louder and showing his teeth as his ears swivelled towards the sound. The scent was familiar though, pinged an instinct to protect.

“Someone get Newt Scamander! And tell him to bring his case,” the newcomer snapped, and finally Graves reasserted enough control over his own mind to recognise Tina Goldstein.

He stopped growling, though his tail was still twitching restlessly, and managed to look harmless enough that Goldstein crouched down on the floor not too far from his head.

“Mr. Graves?” she asked cautiously. “Are you, uh, still in there?”

He would’ve dearly liked to roll his eyes, but settled for dipping his head in as obvious a nod as he could manage. He still felt sore, pain running down abused nerves, but for the moment he had a handle on his cat instincts.

“Good, that’s good.” In his new vision, her face looked a bit blurry, not as sharply contrasted, and if he hadn’t known that her eyes were a warm brown he couldn’t have told now. “Newt will be here in a moment so he can take you home. We’ll work on getting this reversed, that is, unless you can change back?”

He wasn’t very keen on ending up naked in a busy MACUSA corridor, his control shaky enough that managing clothes as well would overstretch him, but he tried nonetheless, forcing his mind through the motions he’d learned when first becoming an animagus, that were supposed to reverse the change. Nothing happened.

An unhappy growl left his throat, and Goldstein flinched back before she got herself under control again.

“I’ll take that as a no.”

But Graves wasn’t listening anymore, his head turning towards new footsteps. The smell of his mate made his nostrils flare and, without thinking about it, he began to lope towards Newt, who was already kneeling on the floor when Graves reached him.

“Oh, look at you,” Newt breathed, voice soft yet delighted. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

Graves, who was about two seconds away from doing something embarrassing like purr in contentment in enjoyment of Newt’s presence, gently batted at Newt’s knee, then poked his paw in the direction of the battered suitcase Newt had dropped next to him.

“Oh, yes, of course.”

Newt opened the locks with a reassuringly solid click and motioned for Graves to hop in.

“I’ll be with you as soon as we’re back home,” Newt promised, just before the lid closed again and Graves found himself standing in the savannah habitat.

Compared to headquarters, the inside of Newt’s case was blissfully quiet. Tired and achy – and perhaps not thinking quite as critically as he usually did – Graves dragged himself over to a small stone outcropping and flopped onto the ground in the shade at its base, trusting that Newt would find him when he returned.

He was almost asleep when his nose twitched with a new smell, almost an excited one, and without further warning a hulking shape of dangerous feline jumped from the rock above to land next to him, crowding him against the rock. This was _not_ how he’d wanted to find out that nundus moved as silently as much smaller predators. Adrenaline hammering through his system, he tried to jump up and away, but Adelaide’s – another one of Newt’s naming successes – bulk was in the way. For a long moment he panicked, getting as far as to wonder if he was going to be murdered in Newt’s case while the man was away before his cat instincts kicked in and told him that the nundu’s purring was playful rather than aggressive and no attack would be forthcoming.

And that was how Graves found himself napping with a purring nundu curled around him.

When Newt returned later, gently clambering over the massive fore-paw that Adelaide had draped over Graves, he opened a sleepy eye and huffed out a questioning gust of breath.

“They say the spell should wear off in a few hours,” Newt told him, beaming proudly at the arrangement in front of him all the while. “I’m so glad you befriended Addie. Even most of the creatures in here are a bit intimidated by her.”

Graves cast a glance at the nundu snoring happily next to him that he hoped made it quite clear that he hadn’t been given much of a choice in the whole befriending business.

Newt, with the uncanny astuteness he always exhibited when it came to creatures, said, “Oh, did she just appropriate you? Well, she has been wanting cubs for a while, I think, but I haven’t ever encountered a male nundu...”

Graves glared at him. Newt better not kidnap another nundu just to stop the one he already ferried around from moping. Then the word _cub_ penetrated his mind and he bristled in indignation. Newt, still frowning thoughtfully at Adelaide, reached over to pet his ears without even looking. All further input from his brain side-lined, Graves leaned into the touch and began to purr lowly.

“You should really use your animagus form more often,” Newt informed him fondly, clever fingers sorting through Graves’ fur in a way that threatened to reduce him to a puddle of bliss. “You make quite the magnificent mountain lion.”

Graves preened.

 

The spell did indeed wear off, which was great news except for how a very human Graves woke up squished (and naked) under Adelaide’s paws and had to be extracted by an unreasonably amused Newt. At least Newt had thought to rescue his suit and coat from the hallway. And then there was the way the nundu gave him one puzzled stare, sniffed at him, and then clearly decided he was still the same mountain lion she’d snuggled earlier and absolutely refused to leave his side. Graves was forced to remain in the suitcase and try to avoid the more delicate habitats because Adelaide had already trampled all over the dung beetles’ dung balls to many affronted clicking noises.

Newt was too busy laughing at him to help, despite Graves’ dark glares and muttered threats.

Further complications arose when Graves prepared to go to work. Adelaide still kept hot to his heels, to the point where she almost got her head stuck in the door to Newt’s little shed, whining at him as he prepared to disappear up the ladder. Graves halted. Even back in his human form now, the forced transformation had left more of an echo in his mind than it usually did and the small part of him that still thought he was a big cat had no trouble interpreting the nundu’s tone of voice – she was worried about him. Of course that was all kinds of ridiculous since Graves was a grown man and not a little nundu cub. And yet he felt curiously reluctant to leave her.

For a moment Graves allowed himself to imagine it. Striding through headquarters with a nundu on his heels, the shocked faces he would no doubt garner. The look on _Picquery’s_ face. He couldn’t quite deny, even in the privacy of his own mind, that the idea was unreasonably appealing.

“Newt?” he called slowly, gaze flitting between Adelaide’s hopeful whiskers and the hatch. “When did Adelaide last get the chance to go on a bit of a walk-about?”

Newt came out of the little bathroom, waving his hands around to try and dry them. He looked puzzled. “She hasn’t been out of the case since I rescued her,” he said, his eyes narrowing at Graves in suspicion. “Nundus, you know. People are afraid of them.”

 _So were you, not too long ago_ hung in the air unsaid, but Graves only shrugged. It wasn’t his fault that Newt kept exposing him to dangerous creatures until he got used to their presence.

“Do you think she’d enjoy MACUSA headquarters?” Graves asked innocently. “She seems reluctant to leave me alone.”

Newt gaped at him. “You want to take _Addie_ to work? You can’t be serious... You are serious. Right. Well. I’m sure she’d enjoy it, but _I_ wouldn’t enjoy her being torn apart by startled, prejudiced wizards who see a nundu in their workplace.”

“I’ll send a memo ahead,” Graves reassured him, a slow smile spreading over his face. “I won’t let anything happen to her, Newt, I promise.”

Newt still looked like he was seriously contemplating pinching himself to find out whether he was, in fact, dreaming and then suddenly he smiled so brightly Graves couldn’t quite help his involuntary step towards him. They met in the middle, Newt’s smile against his lips and a whisper in his ear. “I love you, you impossible man.”

Graves hummed happily, pleased that he could still pleasantly surprise Newt. Even if his main motivation in this case was lingering grouchiness with his co-workers.

 

If someone had told Graves two years ago that he would one day climb out of a charmed case filled with dangerous creatures into the entrance hall of his department, with arguably the most dangerous of said creatures gambolling happily in his wake and be filled with unholy glee while doing so, he would probably have had them sent to a medical evaluation before they could say Quidditch. Behind him Adelaide snuffled loudly, sniffing at the myriad of new scents the building was throwing at her. A deep rumble that Graves knew meant contentment had three of his aurors jumping backwards nervously. So far they had passed no one with an expression that wasn’t slack-jawed surprise, shock, or in some cases fear. Graves probably shouldn’t be enjoying himself _quite_ as much as he was.

He found Goldstein waiting for him outside his office, a folder in hand. Her eyes widened.

“It’s good to see you human again, sir,” Goldstein said, voice only a little thin, and he awarded her mental points for fortitude. Then again, she’d already seen Newt’s nundu, so she had a bit of an unfair advantage.

“I’m pleased to be so,” he returned and didn’t flinch when Adelaide walked right up to his back and stuck her head over his shoulder. They probably made a curious picture – Graves wasn’t a small man by any means, but Adelaide still towered over him without even trying. It was unexpectedly comforting. “Thank you for liaising with the research division while I was… otherwise engaged.”

Goldstein was staring at Adelaide as if she very dearly wanted to ask how ‘otherwise engaged’ had led to the Director of Magical Security being followed around by _nundu_ but thought she probably wouldn’t get an answer.

“Just doing my job,” she finally said. “I’ve got the incident written up. Given the contents I thought you might file it yourself.”

“Appreciated, Goldstein.”

A flick of his wrist had the doorway to his office extending to let Adelaide pass through behind him and another flick took care of the office size itself. Temporarily only, as he’d have a bunch of bureaucrats screaming at him about ‘standardised office sizes’ and ‘unauthorised extension charms’ otherwise, but for the day he doubted anyone wanted to brave his office to complain. Handy, that.

It took Picquery all of half an hour to sweep into his office, scowl firmly in place. His estimation of her rose several notches when she only glanced at Adelaide briefly before honing in on Graves.

“Care to explain to me why I have _twenty_ complaints about my Director of Magical Security prancing around the building with a damned nundu?”

Graves kept his face carefully blank. “Well, it was this or staying in Mr. Scamander’s suitcase all day after yesterday’s incident. Adelaide here refused to let me out of her sight.”

As if on cue, the nundu made a yawning sound and swished her tail to drape over Graves’ shoulder.

Picquery’s eyes narrowed. “And you’re certain this has nothing to do with teaching MACUSA a lesson about the consequences of failing to notice Grindelwald’s impersonation of you?”

“ _Please_ , Madame President,” Graves murmured, arching a brow. “I would be more subtle than this if I were truly contemplating revenge.” Ignoring her muttered _that’s hardly reassuring_ , he continued, “Though I certainly wouldn’t complain if the research division learned a lesson about testing unstable hexes without adequate safety precautions. I will go for a visit after lunch.”

He definitely saw Picquery’s lips twitch at that.

“That still doesn’t resolve the issue of my office being inundated with complaints, Graves.”

He shrugged. “Just tell them that if they have complaints they should take them to me. You’re the President. It’s hardly your responsibility to deal with the whining of easily scared employees.”

“You are a wicked man, Percival,” she told him, no longer hiding her smile. “Ten dragots on no one daring to come in here.”

Graves snorted. “No bet.”

Picquery left him to it, eyes glinting, only to stick her head back in through the doorway. “Oh, and Director? I don’t suppose you could pay the kidnapping perp in cell 3 a visit? He’s been rather shy.”

“And you call _me_ wicked?”

Still, it was a sound idea – very sound, in fact, as it turned out that five minutes in a cell that barely held the kidnapper, Graves, and Adelaide’s entire bulk were enough to make him confess where he held the rich heiress hostage and more besides.

 

An audible sigh of relief went through the mess hall when Graves turned up there without a nundu shadowing his step. Even though he’d promised himself to never eat here again after the incident with Pickett, he’d forgotten to pack something in all the confusion this morning and his stomach was trying to eat itself so he’d decided to bite the bullet. Aware that there were some limits (and getting between people and their food was one of them), he’d left Adelaide napping in his office, the door charmed to immediately inform him of any attempts on her part to pass through. While he hoped none of his co-workers would be quite so stupid, he still didn’t want to risk Adelaide running about on her own without Graves there to protect her (and whichever trigger-happy idiot attacked her).

Johnson was the first to dare come up to him.

“So, boss,” he started, completely failing to sound casual, “a nundu? How’d you manage that?”

Deliberating between a dubious-looking lasagna and the (possibly) safer soup of the day – potato – Graves raised an eyebrow. “You’d have to ask Adelaide that.”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Johnson mouth _Adelaide_ in fascinated horror. The auror cleared his throat. “Adelaide being…?”

“The nundu, Auror Johnson. I had little to do with the entire affair.”

Johnson opened his mouth, then clearly thought better of whatever he was about to ask.

“Right,” he said and slunk off, looking about as awkward as it was possible to look in a crowded mess hall.

Akecheta was next, appropriating the chair beside him as Graves tried to eat his soup without tasting too much of it.

“I hear you’re trying to to solidify your reputation as the most intimidating person working in MACUSA,” she commented, one corner of her mouth tilting up in a wry grin. “It’s not fair to hog, sir.”

“I would apologise, but I’ve had very little say in the current situation.” His spoon clinked down in the now empty bowl. “Adelaide has her own mind about these things. Besides the title would be Newt’s if he ever gave in and accepted the job offer.”

She pause for a moment, then nodded dourly. “No one’s going to argue with that.”

Graves frowned at her. “When did _you_ meet Newt?”

“He came by my office the other day and very politely told me off for giving you a hard time since your return. _Very_ politely.” Suddenly she grinned, a rare enough occurrence that Graves’ eyebrows leapt upwards again. “You’ve certainly picked a good one.”

“I have,” he agreed automatically, then went right back to frowning. “You were giving me a hard time?”

Akecheta’s smile softened a little around the edges. “I didn’t think you would see it that way. It’s pleasing to know I was right about that at least.”

Graves waved her on with an impatient hand.

“I _have_ been jumpier around you, sir,” she finally said, smile gone. “Making sure you’re still you regularly, that kind of thing, though Mr. Scamander informed me quite rightly that it was rather unlikely Grindelwald would try the same trick twice. About as unlikely as any other wizard being powerful enough to.”

Graves didn’t disagree with that assessment. Grindelwald was many things, but predictable wasn’t one of them. It was one of the things that allowed him to sleep at night, the knowledge that should he attack New York again, it probably wouldn’t be through Graves personally.

Still.

“I’d rather you checked, Akecheta,” he said, utterly seriously. “Better _that_ than allowing for the possibility of being used like that again.”

She nodded at him, dark eyes solemn. No more words were needed on the subject.

Yet, Graves couldn’t quite help feeling a little rattled by the exchange, by the memories it had stirred up. The moment he passed through the door into his office, Adelaide raised her great head, sniffing the air concernedly. Then one of her paws lashed out, dragging him down to the floor and against her warm side before he could sit down in his chair. He wriggled a little and found that the nundu really wasn’t about to let him go again, one heavy paw holding down his chest. He could reach for his wand, of course, but he _was_ still tired. A short nap couldn’t hurt.

 

Graves woke an indeterminate amount of time later, to someone who sounded suspiciously like Tina Goldstein honest-to-Merlin _cooing_. He blinked sleepily. Adelaide’s heavy breathing shifted into wakefulness and before he could stop her a rough tongue had swept through his hair. He sighed. At least the cooing sounds had stopped, so he could still hold out hope no one had witnessed the act. Before he could enact his plan to wriggle free, a familiar pair of scuffed brown boots appeared in his field of vision. Newt crouched down next to him, a soft smile on his face and looking so eminently kissable that Graves momentarily forgot the nundu keeping him hostage. Adelaide grumbled at him as he tried to move, tightening her grip.

“You look done in,” Newt observed quietly. “Tina has been telling me about your morning. Apparently some people are now under the impression that you’re some kind of nundu whisperer.”

“Nonsense. The only one in this room who can call himself that is you.” Graves sniffed. “Speaking of, could you possibly get Adelaide to release me? She certainly isn’t listening to _me_.”

Newt was studying his face in a way that indicated dark circles and possibly the crinkly lines around Graves’ eyes that he still swore up and down were no reliable indicator of him being in pain.

“Only if you allow me to take you home for some real rest, Percival. You shouldn’t have come in to work today.” Newt’s jaw was set stubbornly. Graves had seen that particular expression before and estimated his chances of dissuading him at roughly zero percent. Besides, however satisfying the reactions were, dragging a nundu around headquarters really was a bit exhausting.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “If you promise to actually join me in bed and not get distracted by some creature-related emergency or other.”

“Deal,” Newt said promptly, and Graves watched with a familiar mixture of wonder and incredulity as he proceeded to gently reprimand Adelaide until she let go of Graves with an apologetic sort of tail swish.

Newt nodded towards his ever-present suitcase. “Get in then. I’ll carry you out.”

Graves didn’t need telling twice – especially not with the prospect of taking another nap in Newt’s arms on the horizon.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we reach the end. Thanks everyone for following along!
> 
> Credit for inspiration for this last chapter go to aethelar, hamelin-born, and stylishbutdefinitelyillegal over on tumblr, who started a delightful worldbuilding thread featuring Addie the nundu adopting Graves and were gracious enough to let me borrow the concept. You can find the beginning of it [here](http://hamelin-born.tumblr.com/post/155324841042/honestly-i-keep-getting-the-mental-image-of). (I may or may not also be writing a story that follows that thread much more closely...)


End file.
